Threshold
by WildMeiLing
Summary: A story about crossing literal and metaphorical thresholds. Now, how's that for a nice, vague summary?
1. Chapter 1

_These are not my characters. All I can do is love them from afar. And borrow them from their rightful owners, Meg Cabot and Disney, to fit them into little stories spun by my imagination, which clearly has a great deal of time on its hands._

 _Thank you for stopping by to read!_

* * *

The Queen and her immediate staff were the only occupants of the top floor of this posh hotel. At one end of the quiet, dimly lit hall was a window that afforded a beautiful view of the city; it was made of shatterproof glass and could not be opened. Joe liked that.

At the other end was a door, beyond which he knew stood two of his men in the little vestibule where the elevator rose to pick up and let off visitors. The stairwell was accessible from there as well, which made it easy to guard the entire floor efficiently and effectively. Joe liked that, too.

Outside Clarisse's door, he slid down a little in his chair, stretched out his legs, and crossed his ankles. Keeping his elbows on the chair arms, he clasped his hands across his chest.

He did not fall asleep. Joe Romero, head of royal security, would never be so negligent as to sleep on what he considered to be the most important job in the world. But he was relaxed. Without distractions, it was easy to remain alert. His senses didn't have to strain to filter alarming sounds from background noises, or sort out suspicious movements from the bustle of life's normal activity.

So even though he was tired, it was rather pleasant to sit up late in the peaceful night, knowing she could sleep safe and sound on the other side of the door because of him.

No doubt Charlotte and Olivia were asleep. The day had been long, starting with early morning travel and rushing through a schedule brimming with social events. The culmination was a formal dinner with far too many people for the space. Clarisse, unsurprisingly, bore up beautifully, but he knew her tells and could see she was as weary as the rest of them.

He could not have heard her light footsteps – bare feet ghosting over the rug-clad wooden floors – yet somehow he was expecting her just before he heard the click of the door. He stood up as it opened a crack.

"Joseph!" she exclaimed softly. "What are you doing out here?"

Of course, she would be surprised to see him after he had accompanied her throughout the day. But she must have been hopeful for her to check.

He liked to think so, anyway.

He should have been in bed like everyone else, in order to be ready to meet her bright and early the next morning. Tonight, for some reason, he needed to be near her a little longer. He couldn't tell her that though.

He jerked his head slightly, motioning for her to move closer. She opened the door wider, then glanced down the hall as she clutched the edges of her robe together. He beckoned again, and she stepped through the doorway, just far enough to no longer be in her room.

He leaned toward her, slowly, so that she instinctively moved even closer. When his lips were only a few inches from her ear, he whispered, finally answering her question.

"I am guarding the Queen."

She straightened up to look at him squarely. "Oh, my," she said, pretending to be seriously impressed. "Really?"

"Yes," he replied smugly.

"That sounds important."

"Vital," he clarified.

"And a little dangerous," she added, her eyes wide.

"It can be," he said in an offhand tone.

"Are you ever frightened?"

He sniffed. "No. Danger doesn't bother me. Just goes along with the job. One of the perks, really."

"Tell me," she whispered conspiratorially, "what is she _really_ like?"

"Well…" He paused, pursing his lips as he considered her question. "It's hard to say. I mean, it's difficult to sum her up briefly. She's rather complicated."

She gave him a sympathetic look. "Oh. High maintenance, you mean."

"No, no," he said quickly. "Nothing like that. It's just there's more to her behind the Crown. I could explain, but I feel as though I would be divulging a confidence. You know, sort of betraying her trust."

"I see," she said, gazing at him with admiration and awe. "That's so chivalrous of you."

"I've been called that before," he admitted.

"Is she as pretty as she is in her pictures?" she asked innocently.

He smiled. "Prettier, if you can believe that."

"Hardly!" she gasped, but her eyes brimmed with humor. "What about…"

"Yes?" he prompted as she trailed off.

"Well," she started again, casting a cautious glance down the empty hall, "I've heard these royal types have a tremendous sense of entitlement." She gave him a very serious look. "Does she ever yell at you?"

"Only once. Maybe twice."

"What about, well -…" She dropped her voice to a husky whisper that made his knees a little wobbly. "You're a handsome man. You've been with her a long time?"

"Twenty-three years," he answered proudly.

"And has she ever, you know, made a pass at you?"

"She has not."

"No! I find that difficult to believe," she said, her eyes sweeping his form.

"I find it rather difficult to believe myself," he agreed, "but she is first and foremost a woman of integrity."

His heart lightened as he watched her smile, the first genuine smile since they'd passed that knot of bitter, gossipy old women at the garden party in the afternoon, their voices carrying across the water of the fountain to the queen they had no idea was so nearby.

Then his heart dropped as he watched the smile fade. She tried to hold on to it, but her eyes shone with emotion.

"It's silly, really," she said, taking a surreptitious swipe at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"It's not."

"Of course, it is," she insisted. "After all, it's nothing I haven't heard before. Or that I haven't heard for years. Or read. Nasty comments come with the territory."

"It doesn't matter. You're still human."

"Not to some."

"I took down their names. I know who they are, where they live, and who their immediate family members are. Say the word, and I'll use all that information to avenge you."

She chuckled. "I'm glad you're on my side."

"Always, my queen."

She smiled her thanks. "It's funny, after so many years, sometimes it bothers me. The worst was after Philippe and Helen. People said all sorts of outrageous things then, but I was expecting it. And I'd rather they said those things about Rupert and me than about Philippe and Helen… Maybe that was the difference: expecting it. It's the little random remarks that seem unprompted and catch me off guard and…"

"I know."

She stared at him, letting his quiet assurance settle in. "Yes," she said at length. "Yes, you do. Thank you for that."

"I know it will sound selfish, but in a way, I am glad people don't know the real you. I feel I have you all to myself."

She took a step forward, put her hands on his arms, and planted a kiss firmly on his cheek. She pulled back and gave him a mischievous smile before retreating into her room. "I wish you did." The door started to close and he lifted his hand to touch his cheek.

Suddenly, it flew open, and he hastily dropped his arm.

"And I've never yelled at you."

"Twice."

"A queen never yells. She shouldn't need to."

"But to your credit, you let me yell back."

"Liar." And with a click, the door was closed.

He stood for a moment in the silence, which seemed deep and heavy and stagnant, as though their conversation had been a mere ripple on its surface.

He knocked on the door. She opened it quickly enough, suggesting she hadn't gone far once it had closed.

"Yes?"

"You were asking earlier if the Queen had ever made a pass at me."

She arched an eyebrow.

"I have to change my answer."

"Do tell!"

"I think she just made a pass at me."

She leaned against the door frame and crossed her arms. "What are you planning to do about it?"

He was quiet as he studied her. "You know the thing about guarding a door?"

She tilted her head curiously, waiting for him to explain.

"One can be on either side of it, and still be guarding it."

A slow smile lit up her face, and with her bare foot, she nudged the door a little further open.

* * *

 _to be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

_Welcome back!_

 _Thanks so much for the reviews for the first chapter! The encouragement and feedback are much appreciated and very helpful._

 _I'll be honest: this chapter and I are not the best of friends. We weren't even on speaking terms for a long time. But we started talking again and managed to work through some of our issues._ _I hope you enjoy it, but if it gives you a hard time, let me know._

* * *

Nighttime had settled Clarisse's suite in peace and quiet as well. No bustling Charlotte or flitting Olivia. No phone ringing off the hook. None of the foot traffic that her office back at the palace saw each day.

No cameras. Not that cameras were noisy, but their absence lent a significance all its own.

Nothing, but the blessed quiet. No one, but the two of them.

He could hear his heart thrumming madly. He was embarrassed by how loudly he swallowed. The door clicked shut behind him, breaking into the silence as explosively as a shotgun.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the warm glow of lamplight filtering from her bedroom, and he nearly stopped breathing. The invitation had clearly been to enter her suite. Whether she had a specific room in mind remained to be seen.

In his wildest imaginings, they were already halfway to bed, or as close to it as they could get, kissing passionately and flinging garments haphazardly along the way. Somehow that didn't seem appropriate now – or even possible, since he couldn't bring himself to simply reach for her. He wanted to, but his hands felt clammy. Also, touching her might prove this was merely another dream to add to his futile collection of unquenchable yearnings.

Of course, if he _were_ dreaming, that would mean he had dozed off while on guard duty, and Joseph Romero never slept on the job. Whatever this was, it was real.

Oh, dear God. This was real.

The Queen _had_ made a pass at him, and he had no idea what he was going to do about it.

Time to see if honesty truly was the best policy. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "What do we do now?" he asked.

She chuckled. "And there I was, thinking perhaps _you_ might have a few ideas."

He grinned. "Oh, I have ideas. Plenty of ideas." He cleared his throat again. "I'm a little overwhelmed by all the ideas," he admitted.

"I have a few ideas of my own."

"Is that so?"

"Mm-hmm."

"We should definitely get together some time and compare notes."

"We should." She paused. "Some time," she echoed.

Ah, so it wasn't just him. He had not detected even a hint of nervousness within her aura of certainty. He had likely succeeded at projecting the same level of self-assurance she did now, the same easy confidence he had feigned on the other side of the door. He suddenly saw a picture of them, of this scene, in his mind - two perfectly composed people whose jobs often required them to look cool and unruffled despite whatever emotions might be surging just below the surface.

"Yes, another time," he agreed. "For now, maybe we should stick with…"

She eyed him curiously.

"...the basics," he said jokingly. She relaxed and smiled at him. He felt calmer, too, the light exchange defusing the intensity of this momentous step.

At last, his need to touch her surpassed his concern over damp palms. He took her hands in his as they stepped toward each other. "May I kiss you, Clarisse?"

"Oh, I do wish you would, Joseph."

They came together slowly, tentatively, as if they were each worried about spooking the other. When it was clear neither of them would be so easily scared, the kissing quickly became something else entirely. It was familiar, while at the same time thrillingly novel. It was eager, fueled by pent-up emotions of more than two decades; yet thorough with the knowledge that this had been worth the wait and was something to be savored.

They finally broke apart, but only just. He rested his forehead on hers as they caught their breath.

"Should we make ourselves more comfortable?" Clarisse murmured. Her voice was rich and silky like expensive chocolate, and hungry as he was, he thought he might taste her words if he kissed her mouth again.

When she nodded to the sofa, he felt a mixture of relief and disappointment that she hadn't indicated her bedroom. His unsteady legs, however, begged him to take her up on the invitation. Joseph released one of her hands, holding fast to the other to keep their contact unbroken – to keep his hold on this newfound reality – as he led her to the sofa. He sat down and pulled her close to him. She tucked herself into his side as he turned to pick up where they had left off by the door.

There was no hesitation this time.

It could have been minutes or hours, but at some point he was pulling her deeper into him and she was gripping his shoulders, and their kisses were increasingly urgent, almost fierce, as though life itself depended on this. She moved impossibly closer and he was painfully aware that she was in a thin robe lightly covering a delicate concoction of silk and lace. Her proximity made him euphoric, and he moaned softly.

Suddenly, they were apart. She had moved almost a full cushion away and their ragged breath filled the wordless space between them.

Careful not to trespass into her recently reclaimed personal space, he reached for her hand, pulled it to his lips, and kissed her fingers gently. She moved her hand from his and placed her palm against his cheek. With her thumb, she caressed the whiskers at the corner of his mouth.

"I know it will sound absurd," she said, her gaze steady as she looked for his reaction, "to say this is all happening so fast when we've been waiting forever." He leaned in to her touch, listening. "It's just, well… This morning, I had no idea this would be happening now. I didn't know twenty minutes ago, when I opened the door to talk with you."

"You mean, this isn't why you came looking for me?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

"No," she laughed softly. "I only wondered where you were. You didn't answer the phone in your room, and it seemed unlikely you would be the one outside, but –" She stopped for a moment, her expression full of passion now tempered by a tender gratitude. "It was possible. You're always making sure I'm safe," she whispered. "Even when you're tired. Even when someone else can do it."

"No one else can do it," he stated matter-of-factly. "I only keep these other guys around because sometimes I have to sleep." He reached to stroke her hair. "I never fully trust you with anyone else."

"I know. I couldn't be in better hands."

A charmingly wicked smile lit across his face. "Speaking of my hands, and your being in them…"

She laughed at him and leaned forward to press her lips to his once. "You are already adjusting to this more quickly than I am."

He smiled reassuringly. "No. I understand. Things have been just as they are between us for an awfully long time."

"Just as they are...," she mused. He wasn't sure what she was thinking, but something drew her back to him. She scooted closer again and leaned against him, nestling her head under his chin. He wrapped his arms around her and sighed contentedly; he felt her smile against his neck.

For a few minutes, they said nothing at all, and in the rare peace and quiet, Joseph slowly realized that the honesty of that moment – starting to say out loud the things they both already knew, that had been hovering without words or definition beneath the surface of their friendship for twenty-three years – was as fulfilling as any fantasy he'd ever concocted.

"What do you want to be, Joseph?" Clarisse asked point blank.

He didn't have to think about it. "Everything, Clarisse. I want to be everything to you."

He heard her breath hitch and felt the rapid fluttering of her eyelashes and waited for her to regain her composure before he reciprocated.

Sort of reciprocated. He would have to rephrase the question. She could give the same answer – _I want to be everything_ – but it would have a different meaning. He wanted to be her everything, and so would be. She belonged to an entire country, and only had so much to give, no matter how much she might wish otherwise.

"What do you want us to be, Clarisse?"

She was quiet, and her soft sigh against his skin told him she had caught the significance of his reworded question. Finally, she replied simply, "I just want to be _us_."

"Is this being us?" he asked with a smile.

He felt a silent chuckle against his chest, and he tightened his embrace.

"Tonight it is." She pulled back to look him in the eye. "Like you, I am a little overwhelmed by all the, um, ideas."

"One thing at a time then." He kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose and the corners of her mouth. "This is already heaven."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Really? If cuddling is heavenly, what will you think of all the other options?"

"Lots of adjectives come to mind: amazing, spectacular, phenomenal, earth-shattering… I could go on."

"Please, don't," she laughed. "I'm suddenly feeling enough pressure with those."

He brushed her hair back behind her ear and smiled reverently at her.

"Clarisse, what turns my thoughts and dreams into fantasies is the fact that you're in them. With me. That we're together. All adjectives fall short in the face of that. All words fail."

She stared at him with shining eyes. "Damn, you're good," she declared in a husky voice.

"Now _I'm_ feeling the pressure," he teased. "I don't want you to change your opinion...later."

"You mean, when we're - how did you put it? - comparing notes."

"Exactly."

She started to respond - with something tantalizing and suggestive if the smugness of her smile were any indication - but just then, his internal alarm went off, elbowing its way into his bliss in order to shove him back fully into the present. He checked his watch to confirm it was the witching hour, then sighed.

"It's almost midnight," he offered as explanation and apology.

Her eyes widened. "Will your ride turn into a pumpkin?"

"No, pumpkins are too...orange. And you know me: I don't go in for fairy tales." He smiled crookedly at her. "Although tonight might make a believer out of me."

"It is almost too good to be true, isn't it?" she asked ruefully. "After all these years? As though we're tempting fate, just asking for the spell to be broken."

He was too happy to admit that, on some level, he felt the same. Real as this all was, it was fragile and daring and would have to be carefully guarded, kept closely between the two of them.

He stood up, pulling her with him into one more embrace. "I won't let anything or anyone break this," he whispered.

He felt her arms squeeze more tightly around him, and it was all the response he needed. With a small grumbling sound, he found the strength to move apart from her.

"What happens at midnight?" she asked, following him to the door.

"Shift change. If I'm not out in the hall, my colleagues might assume the worst and sound all the alarms before it occurs to them to simply knock on your door."

"I suppose there's such a thing as being too enthusiastic."

"These young guys today. I think they watched too many Jack Ryan movies growing up."

"It's nice to know they care, anyway."

"That's one way to look at it." He turned around, reaching for her to give her one last kiss. She met him halfway, easily reclaiming her natural place in his arms as if they'd been like this for years.

"Good night, my queen."

"Good night, Joseph."

Sheer force of will caused them to finally separate. With one more smile, he disappeared into the hallway.

"I love you," she said to the space he had just been standing in.

In the hallway, where he leaned against the door, he closed his eyes as her words unwittingly crossed over to him.

She loved him. _Heavenly_ didn't begin to describe it.

So they hadn't stumbled to bed in a blinding passion. She had said she loved him and that she wanted to be with him. If he were honest, _those_ were the things that made up the plot of his wildest imaginings. Those comprised his oldest and dearest fantasy, the most impossible one, which on this night, was miraculously fulfilled.

* * *

 _to be continued..._

 _I've never actually seen a Jack Ryan movie, but I did watch_ Guarding Tess _. None of that is relevant to this chapter so I should probably stop now._


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you_ so much _to all who stop by to read. And thanks_ so much _to those of you who have shared your thoughts and encouragement; your feedback means a great deal to me._

 _This chapter also went through many renovations, but it was way fun to write. (Shh, don't tell Chapter 2; we're finally at a good place in our relationship.) I hope it is as much fun for you to read as it was for me to write._

* * *

Joseph took a few swipes at the shower-fogged mirror, clearing a space for his reflection so he could shave. It wasn't entirely necessary, but he felt compelled to take extra care getting ready this evening, even though he wasn't really doing anything different.

In fact, the whole day hadn't really been anything different. Sure, there was an extra layer to the little gestures – holding her hand to help her out of the car, placing his hand on the small of her back to guide her through a crowd or two – but there hadn't been time to savor the new significance of these familiar things. Their schedule had been packed, and the Queen and her staff had hastened from one engagement to another.

He had arrived in Clarisse's suite early in the morning, where Charlotte was already breezing through the day's agenda with her usual head-spinning efficiency; and Olivia darted about, laying out accessories for outfits Clarisse would wear later in the day. Clarisse sat on The Sofa, which, covered with a patchwork of documents and awash in bright light, was now virtually unrecognizable as the place where they had finally given into their feelings. The industrious vibe permeating the room left cups of tea cooling on the coffee table next to a tray of untouched pastries.

Her greeting had been as pleasant as always, no warmer or cooler than usual. His own response had been equally courteous and transparent as he bowed properly before her.

"So glad you're able to join us, Joseph. Our agenda for today hardly leaves room to breathe so we're coordinating our efforts now." Then, without skipping a beat or so much as batting an eyelash: "Comparing notes, if you will."

He had pulled out a pen and pad as he settled into an overstuffed chair across from her. "I am a firm believer in comparing notes," he had replied seriously.

After that one veiled reference, the day went on, smoothly from a professional standpoint and comfortably in light of the previous evening's events. In addition to the little touches, there were the silent exchanges. He would catch her eye, as he always he did, and she would convey some wordless message to him, which he would understand.

Also like he always did.

He leaned in closer to the mirror, inspecting his face to make sure he hadn't missed any spots and searching for some sign hinting at the glorious upheaval he was experiencing inside.

He sighed and picked up the small scissors to trim his goatee. His countenance was as devoid of change as the workday had been. Now here he was, getting ready for dinner with the love of his life (and two other staff members, he remembered with a frown), and there was nothing to distinguish his routine from that of any other time he got ready to meet her.

He was beginning to think he had imagined the previous night. Maybe he had fallen asleep on guard duty after all.

Maybe she was already trying to forget it. He pushed aside that thought and steadied his breathing.

He applied the same cologne, dressed as fastidiously as always, grabbed his earpiece and microphone – he was taking the first shift again tonight – and paused with his hand on the door knob. He watched as the knob turned, saw himself pull open the door. He put one foot over the threshold and then the other. He pulled the door shut behind him and stood motionless as he contemplated the hallway.

No, something _was_ different. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it.

Every little motion, every minute task, every part of his shower routine and shaving ritual – all of it was imbued with new meaning. He thought of the things he did every single day, from the smallest movement to the importance of his royal post to the overarching purpose of his very life, and reconsidered what all of it meant.

He had been loving her with his every word and thought and action for years, as had she; and it finally occurred to him that nothing had seemed different today because last night had merely been a more physical expression of the intimacy that had always existed between them.

Suddenly, the world was a more vibrant place, its trivial and mundane activities revealed as the miraculous happenings they'd always been.

This revelation was comforting to him, and exciting at the same time. Even within the realm of their professional relationship, even in the secrecy that cloaked their love, there existed limitless possibilities. And he smiled to himself as he walked the short distance to her suite.

* * *

The day was to end where it had started - in Clarisse's suite - and with the same group of people. After two incredibly hectic days, the Queen had insisted on an early night with a quiet dinner for her closest staff. Joseph understood it was a gesture of gratitude as much as a chance for them to unwind, but he wasn't sure it had quite hit the mark with any of them.

Despite her contact with Clarisse every day, Olivia clearly did not feel comfortable interacting with her employer in a more informal setting, and covered her nervousness with a bit too much wine and a healthy dose of whipped cream-doused chocolate mousse. Joseph watched her finally relaxing over her second very full glass of wine and third helping of dessert, and wondered where she was putting it all within her petite frame.

Charlotte was tired, which only dulled her fidgeting. No doubt she had a laundry list of chores running through her head. Her first glass of wine was nearly untouched, and she forced down a small, token helping of dessert, eager to get back to a job that did not stop simply because it was dinnertime.

She also kept shifting her eyes between Clarisse and Joseph in a way that made him uneasy.

Perhaps he had been wrong. Something must have visibly changed after all. Joseph chanced a few probing glances at Clarisse, who wore her hostess hat with as much effortless charm as ever. He could not detect the slightest shift in her demeanor.

Charlotte's subtle scrutiny continued, however, as did her desire to move on from dinner. By the time she was tapping a fingernail against the stem of her wineglass in an antsy rhythm, Joseph was also looking forward to her getting back to whatever neglected tasks waited for her.

After what felt like an eternity, as well as a pointed look from Charlotte that caused Olivia to rethink her acceptance of another glass of wine, the young women were on their feet, offering their thanks for a splendid meal.

"Are you leaving, too, Joseph?" Clarisse asked.

He nodded to the mousse atop the serving cart. "Not until I have some more of that."

Olivia, who was pushing in her chair, exclaimed, "Oh, let me!" Joseph smiled, guessing she didn't want anyone to notice just how much of it was missing.

But Clarisse was on her feet as well. "I'm quite sure I can manage," she said kindly. This time, Joseph tried very hard _not_ to smile, guessing that Clarisse was as ready as he was for two of her guests to be on their way.

He sensed Charlotte's eyes on him and turned to her. She was, in fact, watching him, and quite intently. While the other two ladies were distracted, she leaned toward him and spoke in a low voice.

"I had a feeling you would stay for the mousse."

His face froze and his stomach suddenly felt as though his entire meal had turned to rocks. But before he could even begin to think of a reply, she did an extraordinary thing.

She winked and gave him a small smile.

Not a suggestive wink, not an I-know-what-you're-up-to smile. There was nothing about sordid secrets in her expression.

Rather it was a wink of solidarity. A smile of reassurance. And maybe, in the glimmer in her eye, a hint of defiance. Something that said she had very specific ideas as to what the Genovian aristocracy and conservative political establishment could do with their judgmental attitude, and that the prying paparazzi could do the same thing with their cameras.

The moment was over when a second helping of chocolate mousse was placed in front of him; then Charlotte and Olivia were saying goodnight and closing the door firmly behind them.

He looked at Clarisse, who had taken her seat and was studying him curiously. No wonder: the thing with Charlotte had him feeling rather dazed. He was still debating whether he should mention it when she broke out a dazzling smile.

"Thank heavens! I was starting to think they'd _never_ leave."

All discomfiting exchanges were instantly forgotten, and he matched her smile with a grin of his own. "I'm just glad I had an excuse. When I mentioned more mousse, I was afraid you were going tell me it was gone."

She chuckled. "Tell me," she said, standing up slowly. "Did you _really_ stay for dessert?"

His eyes darkened as he watched her close the small gap between them. "Oh, definitely," he promised huskily.

He pushed his chair back with the intention of standing up, of taking her into his arms, but she surprised him by swiftly settling herself onto his lap. He happily embraced the new seating arrangements, and it wasn't long before their kisses – flavored with chocolate and the wine she had had with dinner – conveyed the depth of their desire.

He broke away long enough to gently move her from his lap and onto her feet. He stood up, reaching around her to push away plates and saucers and glasses. There was the sound of silverware clattering to the floor as he grasped her waist and eased her onto the table. His mouth reclaimed hers and as he pulled her tightly to him, he felt her knees draw up over his hips, her ankles lock around the back of his thighs. The kiss approached unprecedented, balance-toppling proportions, and Clarisse released her hold on Joseph's shoulders to brace herself against the table. She planted her hands next to her, then as he pressed her back, her elbows bent so she could relegate their weight to her forearms, and –

"Joseph," she mumbled.

"Hmm?"

"Joseph," she said, struggling to regain her upright posture.

"What's that matter?" he said, alarmed. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, it's just my arm ended up in your mousse."

"What?"

She held up her arm for inspection, her eyes bright with amusement as he noticed the glob of chocolate on the inside of her delicate wrist.

"You know," he said, lacing his fingers in hers and drawing her hand near, "I think I've imagined something like this before."

"Is that so?"

"It is." He brought his mouth to her wrist.

"I thought we were starting out with the basics," she said, her breath hitching.

"We were, but as it happens, I really did want more mousse."

"Well, this is convenient then."

"Mm," he murmured against her skin. Finished with her wrist, his lips trailed up along the length of her arm until he eventually found her neck.

"Oh, Joseph," she moaned softly.

"Sonofa-!"

"What's the matter?"

"I forgot I was still connected." He smiled an apology at her as he straightened up and pressed the button for his microphone. "Yes. … Alright, I'll be right there."

He dropped his arm and frowned. She raised her eyebrows.

"Changing of the guard," he explained. "Out in the vestibule."

"Do you need to be there?"

"Probably not, but you know how I am when we're traveling."

She smiled tolerantly. "It'll make you feel better."

He took in the sight of her. "Do you promise not to move?"

"No." She laughed at his very un-Joseph pout. "But I'm certain I can manage an equally compromising position that's also a little less precarious."

He gave her a crooked grin. "I won't be long."

"I hope not."

He hurried down the hall and pushed open the door to speak with his men. Naturally, there were a few things they wanted to bring up while they had his attention. He concentrated on taking deep breaths to quell his frustration as they meandered through their list of questions and concerns like they had nothing better to do.

At last, when everyone was updated and on the same page, Joseph spun on his heel, ready to bolt.

"Hey, Boss?"

One more very deep breath before turning calmly back. "Yeah."

"Who's taking over outside Her Majesty's room?"

He was sure he'd informed them of the schedule already. As he silently sent heavenward a desperate plea for patience, he answered, "I'll finish off this shift. Leo is taking over at midnight."

No one batted an eye. Their supervisor's obsessive, do-it-himself attitude toward safeguarding the Queen seemed in no way suspicious to anyone present.

Just then, the elevator doors dinged open and deposited the waiter who had delivered dinner. Joseph, his insides trembling with irritation, was certain he would burst.

The new arrival nodded nervously to the cluster of dark-suited, somber-faced men.

In Joseph's experience, there were three reasons for a person to be nervous. One, the prospect of interacting with royalty. Given this was a very fine hotel, and the fact that the waiter was a staff veteran, Joseph was certain the man came in contact with people of great importance on a regular basis.

Two, a person might be nervous because he or she was up to no good.

Three, a person was nervous because, with very little effort, Joseph scared the hell out of people.

Joseph was confident of the third reason in this instance, and stepped aside to allow him to pass.

He followed the waiter up the hall, his heart quickening and bidding his feet to do the same. With herculean effort, he managed to keep his gait even. The waiter knocked on the door, and they heard Clarisse bid him enter.

As the waiter pushed open the door, Clarisse's comment about finding a compromising position echoed in his ears with the urgency of a warning shot, and he felt the color drain from his face. He moved to step in front of the unsuspecting man, but it was too late. He was inside.

Joseph burst into the room behind him. Startled, Clarisse looked up from her seat on the couch, a serious-looking book open in her hands, her position sedate and boring.

The waiter busied himself with clearing the table and loading up the cart, unaware that a queen was stifling laughter and that a bodyguard was heaving a sigh of immense relief.

"Your Majesty," the waiter asked earnestly, "shall I arrange for tea?"

"No, thank you, but do leave the mousse," she said casually.

"Of course," obliged the oblivious waiter.

He finished his task with an admirable and practiced efficiency. In no time, he was bowing respectfully out the door, with laden cart in tow and one last nervous glance at Joseph.

Joseph counted to five, then all but sprinted to the door to lock it.

"Poor man," Clarisse observed sympathetically. "He was practically shaking in his boots. Do you derive some perverse enjoyment from that?"

"From what?" Joseph asked, failing to appear innocent.

"Scaring the wits out of people."

"Yes, I do," he grinned.

In a few bounding steps, he was back across the room to settle on the sofa next to Clarisse. He plucked the book from her grasp and tossed it aside before pulling her into his arms.

"Now where were we?" he murmured into the hollow just below her ear.

"Over at the table, to be precise."

"You're maddening, do you know?"

"Oh, I see," she said, sliding her arms around his back. "You mean, this sort of 'where were we?'"

"I do. Geography is of little consequence to me."

"Good. I do think we'll be more comfortable here."

She turned slightly, leaning back and pulling him down with her. Their lips met quickly in a desperately potent kiss.

They had just found their way back to where-were-they when the phone on the small table next to the sofa rang impertinently. Joseph's muffled groan of desire transformed into one of impatience. Clarisse's arm reached back and over her head, her hand blindly searching as the device continued to shrill brazenly and Joseph continued to kiss her.

Finally, she located the phone and picked up the handset. Joseph scowled as he sat back, reluctantly trading places with it.

She smiled at him and held out her other arm. He clasped her hand and pulled her up, then she caressed his cheek consolingly as she spoke into the phone.

"Yes?... Of course, just a moment." She covered the receiver and lowered her voice to a whisper. "It's Charlotte. She wants to speak with you."

She passed him the phone while he eyed her sullenly. She pursed her lips and kissed the air in his direction, fueling his grumpiness.

"Yeah," he spoke, his rough salutation in sharp contrast with his queen's polite, well-modulated one.

 _"_ _Didn't take you long to get to the phone. Don't tell me you're already finished with dessert."_

"You needed something?"

 _"_ _Nope."_

There was an infuriating pause.

"Charlotte…"

Other people he made nervous, but not this one. In fact, he would never admit it, but sometimes when she was in the throes of the manic efficiency her job demanded of her, _she_ made _him_ nervous.

 _"_ _Shades needed something."_

"So why are _you_ calling?" he demanded testily, ignoring the surprised look he got from Clarisse.

 _"_ _Shades called me because he couldn't get a hold of you_. _I promised I would see you got the message."_

"How helpful of you."

 _"_ _Yes. Anyway, -"_ She switched to professional mode, much to Joseph's relief. _"- something about a malfunction with the surveillance monitors in the security hub."_

"Oh? Is the prince at the palace?"

Clarisse's face registered alarm, but he met her eyes directly and shook his head. _No reason to worry_ , he told her.

 _"_ _He is. It seems to have been merely a technical glitch, but Shades followed up according to protocol. He dispatched guards to the areas where surveillance was interrupted, and secured the premises. He's conducting a sweep of the grounds now. As an extra precaution, he sent up additional guards to His Highness's chambers. He wanted you to be aware, just to be safe."_

"Excellent." Phrases like "extra precaution", "according to protocol", and "just to be safe" were music to his ears, reinforcing Joseph's confidence in his most valued employee and his conviction that the younger man would someday be his replacement.

 _"_ _He said he is sure there is no need for concern, but will call later with an update for you, regardless. Should I tell him to call Her Majesty's –"_

"Charlotte."

 _"_ _Okay, okay. Message delivered. As you were."_

"Thank you, Charlotte," he said sincerely.

 _"_ _You're welcome,"_ she replied, and they both knew they were talking about more than one thing.

Joseph leaned past Clarisse to hang up the phone, noticing she held herself stiffly despite his wordless reassurance before. He nodded to the phone. "She's cheeky, that one."

Clarisse was comforted, knowing Joseph would not attempt levity if there were a crisis underway. "Not with me. But I do suspect her capable of it."

"Just a technical issue. Everyone is safe," he promised.

"Thank you," she said quietly, resting her head on his shoulder. For a few moments, they simply reveled in each other's company. "You know, it will be worse back home."

"I know."

"I won't be able to give this – to give us – my full attention."

"I know."

"And until Philippe is king –"

Finally, he pulled back slightly and, cupping her chin, tilted her face to him. "Clarisse. I _know_."

"I know you do. But it's unfair to you."

"And not to you?"

She blinked in surprise, as if the idea hadn't occurred to her. "I suppose I'm used to it," she admitted.

"There is no couple in this world who has nothing better to do than focus exclusively on their relationship, every moment of every day."

"I doubt most are subjected to the level of scrutiny we are. Or could be," she amended, her eyes holding his steadily. "Because no one could know –"

He cut her off, unable to bear the chagrin in her voice as she broached the subject of secrecy. "We are who we are. I am not concerned. Just promise me one thing."

He suppressed the urge to smile as her face automatically assumed its queenly stance of diplomatic non-commitment.

"I understand that duty to Crown and Country comes first. But if there is ever a time when it feels right to do so, please promise me you will consider the duty you have to yourself. I love you, Clarisse," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper to keep it from breaking, "and I have for so long. I only want the chance to show you, to love you the way you deserve."

Her eyes shone as she listened to him. "That time might be further off than we think."

"You are worth the wait," he swore.

"And I love you, too," she whispered.

The words left him nearly undone, and he crushed her to him, seeking her lips like a man in the desert searched for water. She responded with equal fervor, and nothing could break them apart.

Except, after a time, the need for air.

"I know it will be difficult," he panted, "but that's later. Right now, we have this."

"And the mousse," she reminded him.

He grinned. "And the mousse."

* * *

 _to be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

_I have good news and bad news. Good news: Look how fast I got this chapter up! Bad news: There is one more, and it needs a lot of work. It might be a while._

 _Also, there was an issue with the reviews these past few days. I saw them, then I didn't, and I am sure I did not respond to everyone who left reviews for the last chapter. So: Thank you! I am always very grateful for any thoughts or reactions you are willing to share._

 _Watch out for some highly suggestive comments in this chapter. (It's Joseph's fault. I totally blame him.)_

* * *

He knew it was an illusion. However, the knowledge did not ease his suffering.

Charlotte, the master of time management, seemed to linger over each item on the agenda. Olivia, who usually bustled about like the proverbial bee, appeared to be moving in slow motion as she coordinated the Queen's look and packed up items she might need while she was away from the hotel.

Clarisse kept catching his eye, making it better and worse. Her covert attention gave him the strength to endure the torture that was the morning staff meeting, but it also made him increasingly anxious to be alone with her once more.

One more moment, he told himself. All he needed was one moment with her. One touch, one caress, one kiss, one word to confirm what was finally happening between them.

One more push toward the edge.

One of anything she was willing to offer was either enough to sustain him, or to drive him insane.

He had thought he was prepared for this. After all, it couldn't be worse than years of knowing he belonged with her while being unable to do anything about it. Surely, something - one of anything - would be better than nothing.

Now after only two days, he realized he might have been wrong. Each moment with her was a single drop of water in his parched soul. A morsel of sustenance to whet his appetite when he was already starving.

In some dark, remote place inside him, there was a nascent bitterness, daring to suggest the unthinkable. That maybe the thirst had been more bearable before he'd felt her kiss, that the hunger was better managed before he'd tasted her skin and feasted on her quiet declarations of love.

And he _hated_ that part of him. He sought the confidence he had felt just the evening before, the place he had glimpsed where everything was a reflection of his love for her, grown from a true and lasting friendship. Even as they sat in this room steeped in a forced normalcy, trying to prove the opposite: that their relationship was based on a sterile professionalism with harmless overtones of friendship.

 _Love can't grow in the shadows,_ whispered the bitterness.

 _Love dispels the shadows,_ countered hope.

Suddenly, it was over - the meeting - and he was jolted from his pondering of a dilemma he refused to admit he had. Charlotte disappeared in a blur, a sophisticated whirlwind of paperwork in high heels, leaving Her Majesty's briefcase and a small stack of notecards on the sideboard. Olivia neatly laid the Queen's small clutch next to them as she slipped from the room.

The door closed, shutting out the rest of the world for the brief time Clarisse had miraculously wrangled from her schedule, and just like that, there was silence and stillness.

For a moment, they relished the solitude. Then they were both on their feet.

She was faster, in a hurry to move closer to him. He reached for her, all miserable musings from dark inner corners forgotten in an instant. So delighted was he by what he perceived to be her eager attitude that at first, he didn't notice she was merely trying to inspect him.

"What?" he asked when she held back, feeling at last her now obvious scrutiny.

"I'm _so_ glad you don't have a black eye. You would have had quite a time trying to explain that."

" _I_ would have?" he exclaimed.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't have been able to say anything."

"At least, now I know your knees are ticklish. Although I wish I'd discovered that with my fingers," he muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he recalled being clocked there the night before by what was literally a knee-jerk reaction to his beard against her skin.

"Sorry," she tried, but the way she bit back a smile made her attempt unconvincing.

"I can tell."

"Oh." She stretched up and placed a kiss delicately on his nose. "Did that make it feel better?"

"A little," he said grudgingly. Then his eyes twinkled mischievously. "How interested are you in making me feel better?"

Before she had a chance to answer, she was in his arms, his beard tickling her neck in a way that posed little danger to Joseph, but was definitely hazardous to their morning timetable.

"Not now," she managed, almost sounding as though she meant it. "Didn't you hear all the things Charlotte said we had to do today?"

"I wasn't listening."

"I could tell." She leaned back from him. "What were you thinking about, with dark eyes and furrowed brow?" Her delivery was playful, but there was a seriousness not far below the surface of her question.

"Nothing important." He didn't consider it a lie because he knew she didn't believe it. He dodged further inquiry by changing the subject. "If not now, when? We leave tomorrow."

Neither of them really knew what it meant to be going back home, only that it was significant. Probably in an unappealing way that would complicate the navigation of their new relationship, making their experience here seem like a wantonly extravagant honeymoon by comparison.

"I know." It was all she said before he was reminding her that he wanted something other than words from her mouth. She gave into him for a minute before trying to extricate herself again. "Olivia and I worked very hard to make me look like this."

"And I appreciate it."

"I meant: don't muss me."

"It's fun mussing you."

"Men don't have to worry about these things."

" _I_ do. It took me hours to do my hair, so watch out for it."

She laughed and finally succeeded in pushing him away. "Remind me to leave my lipstick for last from now on. Your lips are definitely pinker than they were a few minutes ago."

He reached into a pocket for his handkerchief and started wiping away the fresh application of lipstick he had acquired as she made her way to her clutch.

"Hmm." He held up the handkerchief to inspect it in the light. "I would call it mauve, but that's just me. Better?" he asked.

She glanced up from where she rummaged through her small bag, looking for the tube of lipstick. "Better," she replied, distracted. "Now go away. I need to practice my speech."

"I can help you," he insisted, moving behind her to nuzzle the nape of her neck.

"You obviously cannot. This is serious business, and you have me practically giggling, which is appallingly inappropriate on countless levels."

"It serves you right. You're doing nothing for my own composure, you know."

"Oh? How is that?" She stopped her search and leaned back into his embrace.

"This morning, I glowered at the desk clerk, and she actually smiled brightly in return. She wasn't rattled in the least."

"Was it the blonde girl with the unnaturally large…" She turned in his arms, and raised her eyebrows suggestively. "…eyes?"

He chuckled. "That's the one."

"So you noticed her then?"

"Only her eyes. And," he hurried on as she frowned, "only because it's my job to notice everyone."

"She has certainly noticed you."

"That," he declared, "I hadn't noticed."

"Hmm. Well, I'm still thinking of having her fired."

"Sometimes it's good to be queen."

"So it is," she agreed.

"Except when you have to prepare for a speech," he added wistfully. "Go on," he said as she retrieved her note cards. He clasped his hands behind his back. "I promise to be good."

"Alright, but one wrong move and you're out of here."

"I never make a wrong move."

"I'm sure you don't. Well,…" she trailed off as she looked pointedly at his nose.

"That wasn't a result of _my_ moves," he said accusingly.

"You should be glad to know those self-defense measures you taught me took hold."

"I'm ecstatic," he intoned.

"Enough sarcasm from you. You're distracting me."

"My apologies, Your Majesty." He bowed. "Please, go on."

"Thank you." She straightened up and took a deep breath before launching into her greeting. He tried to be good, but about a minute in, he stepped to her and tugged at the waistband of her skirt to pull her nearer.

She ignored him, even as her feet moved toward him. "'And so,'" she read, "'we honor the memory of a great artist and the, um…'" He kissed her temple, then inhaled her enticingly floral scent as his lips moved into her hair. "'…and his phenomenal achievements –'"

"Phenomenal, yes, I thought so, too," he whispered in her ear.

She tried to pull away in order to give him a look. "'In the realm of _art_ ,'" she emphasized, and he laughed softly. "'So beloved are his works, so admired his skill –'"

"Stop, I'm blushing," came his muffled reply from the crook of her neck.

"'That it's only fitting we remember you – er, him – with another work of art. So we gather on this auspicious occasion –' Joseph! '- on this –'" She wove her arms under his and held the note cards up to try and read them over his shoulder, but his hands were moving slowly down her back and she had trouble concentrating.

"'Auspicious occasion,'" he supplied.

"Thank you. '-auspicious occasion –'"

"What's the matter? Need your glasses?"

"' – to unveil the erection of a monument –'"

He gently grasped her hips and pulled her tighter to him. "Why, thank you."

"Dammit, Joseph!" she admonished futilely as her note cards fluttered to the floor.

Oh, the hell with it. She could always review them in the car.

* * *

 _to be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

_I don't know why this took so long, but I do thank you for your patience. I hope you enjoy this last chapter!_

 _Oh, and I included a barely-there_ Sound of Music _reference in here. I'm not even sure anyone will pick up on it – it's terribly vague – but the opportunity presented itself, and I couldn't resist._

* * *

Clarisse Renaldi did not travel light. No matter where she went, she brought lots of clothes, lots of work, and lots of people.

This short trip was no exception, and just as with any trip, it seemed she was taking more back with her than she had arrived with. Her clothes only just fit into her suitcases, her work was spilling out of her briefcase, and she was nearly certain one of the members of the security team was someone she had never seen before.

Most of all, her heart overflowed wildly with no hope of containment, making her beyond happy and beyond terrified at the same time.

When she had left the palace in Pyrus three days earlier, she hadn't had any idea that the feelings she had long harbored for her head of security would finally know some degree of release. She would never have imagined they would talk so openly about them, and she still didn't quite believe that they had acted on them. Except the experience of him had left her physically altered. She could still feel him under her skin, though he hadn't touched her in hours. The scent of him seemed mixed into her own chemistry. All of life had changed for the better – colors were more vibrant, breathing was more satisfying, food tasted better – and she was grateful that what existed between them was so strong, it infused the world around her with reminders of itself.

Someone held the door to her suite open for her, and as she stepped into the hallway, she heard it close. It was a quiet, everyday sort of sound, but it resonated deeply within her. They were leaving this place where something extraordinary had happened. They were going home, and she had no idea what things would be like once they got there.

She knew he was apprehensive as well. Although he had been quite convincing in his efforts to appear confident and optimistic, she saw his doubts in his eyes and felt desperation in the approved-for-public physical contact they shared. He held her hand a little too long when he helped her in and out of the car. His hand on the small of her back inched out imperceptibly toward her side so his fingertips could get a better grip on her.

Her forty-year marriage to Rupert had been simpler in many ways. They had loved and admired and respected one another, but they hadn't been in love with each other. They hadn't had to keep the romance alive, as there hadn't been any; or the intimacy solid, as it was the sort that went along with a natural, easygoing friendship. They had even relinquished their physical claims on each other when it had become clear there would be no more royal babies.

Now she was approaching sixty, and for the first time in her life, she found herself in a romantic relationship with another human being of her choosing. She wasn't completely unprepared; if there was one thing her marriage to Rupert had taught her, it was that close relationships of any kind required work and attention and nurturing. She was excited to deepen the bond she had with Joseph, to pour her time and emotion into it. Yet, she was anxious, too, because her time was in demand and her emotions were often faded and drained by the end of the workday.

One by one, the doors closed behind them. The door at the end of the hall. The elevator doors. The front entrance of the hotel, although she was rather glad to have that simpering blonde desk clerk cut off from view. She wasn't seriously jealous, but she found the well-endowed, young (way, _way_ too young) woman's leers and suggestive remarks distasteful and unsettling.

Joseph handed her into the car and closed that door, too. As she waited for him, she studied the profile of the driver – the young man she had thought was new.

The other door opened and Joseph slid in next to her. With a nod to the driver and guard in the front seat, the car started forward smoothly. She was still watching the driver while Joseph reached for the button to raise the partition. As soon as it was in place, it came to her.

"Kurt!"

Joseph looked at her in frowning confusion. "What about him?" He reached for the button again. "Do you need to speak with him?"

"No, no," she said hurriedly, not wanting to relinquish the semblance of privacy they had. They weren't really alone now, but with the partition up and Charlotte and Olivia tucked into another car in the motorcade, it was the closest thing to solitude they would have for a while. "No, I had been trying to remember his name. Is he new? Please, tell me he's new."

Joseph grinned. "Well, we didn't pick him up here at the hotel gift shop, but we did hire him only recently, and this is his first time traveling with us."

She sighed. "That's a relief. Too many names and faces, Joseph."

"I know." He slid closer to her. "Too much work, also." She looked down at a folder on her lap as he flicked the corner of it. "What is this?"

"I don't know yet. Charlotte slipped it into my hand just before I got into the car." She put her glasses on and picked up the folder. "Ah, yes. Guest list for next week's dinner."

"Well, that's something to look forward to."

"Mm, yes, I'm terribly excited about it."

"You know what I think Charlotte should have done with that folder?"

"Joseph!"

"I was going to say, she should've kept it. I don't want to share your attention with dinner plans." He edged past her shoulder to nuzzle her neck briefly. "Unless, of course, they involve only the two of us. Some candles, maybe some wine. Dessert, too. Lately, I've become rather partial to chocolate mousse."

She closed the folder and set it beside her, then placed her glasses on top of it. Eyes twinkling, she turned back to him. "Alright, you have all my attention. What are you going to do with it?"

"It depends. Do you have your lipstick with you?"

She laughed and reached into her purse to retrieve it. "Yes, I've vowed to carry it with me everywhere from now on."

"Good because you never know when we'll have a moment…"

"…and we'll have to take advantage of it."

He leaned in to place a sweet, chaste kiss on her lips.

"That's it?" she asked in disbelief.

"No. But there's something else I want to do, too."

"Oh."

"I need to tell you something."

"I'm all ears."

"I love you."

"I love _you_."

"Is this a good idea?"

"No, but I've come to the conclusion that it is an unavoidable one."

He smiled her favorite crooked smile. "Ever the pragmatist."

"It has its advantages," she said, waving the lipstick at him before setting it with the folder and her glasses.

"I'm not complaining."

"No," she said, "not yet, anyway."

"Do you think you'll regret this?"

"Never."

"Yet you're certain I'll regret this."

"Fairly certain," she answered honestly.

"Impossible."

"We shall see." She reached up to hold his face in her hands. "But I _do_ love you, and I swear nothing will change that."

He grasped one of her hands and turned his head to place a kiss on her palm. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't change my feelings for you. I know this severely complicates your life."

"It doesn't make yours any easier, either."

"No, but it makes it infinitely more worthwhile."

She smiled. "That it does. There will be hard times."

"The pleasure is worth a little pain." He gingerly rubbed his nose. "At least, that's been my experience."

"It doesn't still hurt, does it?"

"No. I mean, yes. It does," he amended, trying to elicit a little sympathy.

She played along by looking concerned. "Even after I kissed it?"

"Can you believe it?"

"Would another kiss make it feel better?"

"Probably. I can't be sure unless you try."

She moved her hand behind his neck, pulled him toward her, and aimed for his lips; she kissed him tenderly but thoroughly. "Better?" she asked after a minute or two, the word muffled against his mouth.

"Yes," he mumbled back. "That makes everything better."

He wrapped her up in his arms and kissed her some more, and she found herself wishing everything in the future would be so easily mended.

"Tell me," he said, pulling back to look at her. "Do you suppose I could look you up when we get back?"

"I don't know. I'll be awfully busy." She paused to play with the whiskers on his chin. "But I might be persuaded. What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, the usual, I suppose, for starters. Dinner, drinks, dancing. Not necessarily in that order."

"It's difficult. You see, my head of security keeps a very close eye on me. Hardly ever lets me out of his sight."

"Head of security?" He frowned. "Does he have time to watch you personally?"

"Not really, but he seems to have difficulty delegating when it comes to me."

"Mm." He pulled her to him more tightly and leaned in to nibble her ear. "I can certainly understand that."

"It's not what you think."

"No? Surely, his motives are not entirely altruistic."

"He's surprisingly loyal, considering he's not actually Genovian."

"I think he might have a crush on you," he whispered in her ear, causing a delightful shiver that set her nestling further into his embrace.

"He's very professional."

"I've heard rumors you were once rather good at eluding your bodyguards."

She chuckled. "Yes, that's why I had so many of them."

"Can't you lose this guy?"

"Quite frankly, I'm not sure I want to."

He straightened up immediately. "Aha! I knew there was something going on between you two."

"I only mean," she said, her face the picture of innocence, "that I feel terribly safe with him."

He eyed her suspiciously. "Are you certain?"

"Of course. Honestly, what sort of queen would carry on with one of her staff members?"

"Well, wait a minute. After all, you've known him a long time."

"True, but – "

"And he's a handsome devil. No one would blame you if you found him irresistible."

"Whose side are you on?"

"My own, naturally. I simply felt compelled to defend him, since he isn't here to do it himself."

"Don't be fooled," she cautioned. "He's always around."

"That seems to be the problem. Can't you get away for one evening? Say, next Tuesday?"

She shook her head. "I'm afraid I have dinner plans already for next Tuesday."

He studied her closely. "With whom?" he asked sulkily, and she was fairly certain his petulance was genuine.

She avoided his gaze. "Well, with -… Now, mind you, it's just business."

"With him? This security fellow?"

"He has a name, you know."

"I'm starting to wonder if he's a bodyguard or a stalker. So _he_ gets to take you out to dinner?"

"Not out, exactly. It will probably just be in my suite."

He pursed his lips. "Business, you say?"

"Strictly."

"I happen to know he's off duty on Tuesday evenings."

"That's true."

"So there's a good chance he might bring a bottle of wine?"

"To go with the candles and the chocolate mousse? I hope he does."

"What about the following Tuesday?"

"I'll probably have most of my Tuesday evenings booked."

"With this James fellow?"

"Joseph. His name is Joseph. And yes. I was thinking it might be a good idea to meet once a week. To discuss security matters," she added hastily.

He looked skeptical. "It seems he's not the only one who has trouble delegating."

"What do you mean?"

"It sounds like your management style is awfully…" He trailed his fingers along her thigh and made circles around her knee. "…hands-on."

"Only with my head of security," she assured him huskily, straightening the knot of his tie.

"I hope so," he murmured, fully Joseph once more as her hands moved from his tie across his chest.

"So that's alright with you?"

"A weekly security-slash-dinner meeting? Absolutely." He grinned. "I've been trying to set up something like that for years."

She laughed. "I'll have Charlotte block off Tuesday evenings for the next…" She was suddenly overcome with a sadness she couldn't explain. She smiled, and she knew the effort it took was not lost on him. "You're sure you don't want a trial run? Every Tuesday for the next six months, for example?"

"I keep telling you, you can't shake me that easily. I want all of your Tuesdays."

She believed that he believed it, and for the moment, it was enough. She allowed herself to believe it, too – that it would be so straightforward, so easily settled. "Alright," she conceded. "All the Tuesdays." She smiled again. "You'll have to make it convincing. Bring along some official-looking paperwork with that bottle of wine."

He nodded. "I'll rustle something up."

"I'll miss you until then."

"Not a chance. I'm right behind you, remember? Seven days a week."

She tried not to think about how they were attempting to foster something real under a false pretense. She tried not to think about how they were pretending. How they would have to appear to separate once a footman opened the limousine door. How they would part with coolly formal gestures after stepping inside the grand entrance of the royal residence.

For now, she cuddled up to him as they sped back toward the reality of palace life, and looked forward to Tuesday.

* * *

The End! (to quote the archbishop: Finally!)


End file.
